Patriarch Issel, the leading cleric in Caergoth-high priest of the church of Shinare-was going to give an invocation, Selinda recalled. He stood now and spoke of the importance of the knighthood and the vital coin of trade that their protection allowed to flow through the city. He got a little too bogged down in matters of debit and income for Selinda’s tastes, and she was grateful when at last, after five minutes, he brought his prayer to a close.
Finally, it was time for the real work of the conference to begin. The princess rose to her feet and cleared her throat.
“Your Excellencies, lords of Solamnia, nobles and ladies, good knights and worthy squires. It is my honor to welcome you all on my father’s behalf to the Council of Caergoth.”
Her father had written this speech, advising her to read it loud and clear at the start of the conference. In her two days in the city she had studied it, deleted some parts that she found too bombastic, and added a few pertinent details that her father had neglected. Then she had committed it to memory, so that she could keep her eyes trained on her listeners as she made her points.
“We may well be proud of our accomplishments in the time since the end of the War of Souls. We have removed the scourge of the Dark Knights from the lands once ruled by Vinas Solamnus. We have begun to repair the depredations wrought by the Dragon Overlords, most notably the evil of the vile Khellendros-though we must all acknowledge that this task in its entirety will last well beyond any of our lifetimes. We have begun to raise the banners of justice, to restore law and order, and pride in the Oath and Measure, throughout these hallowed realms.”
“Hear, hear!” The assent echoed around the chamber, a rumble of deep male voices.
“These gains have not been without sacrifice. One such sacrifice, more than any other, has added a bitter spice to this taste of freedom. My father bade, and my own heart requires, that I ask you all to bow your heads in silence as we do every Autumnul, in memory of the bold, the true, the noble Lord Lorimar.”
Selinda’s voice hardened, and so did her gaze. “It remains bitter medicine to us all that the assassin of Lord Lorimar still roams the lands of Solamnia-a symbol of how much work there is still to be done, restoring justice to the land. For more than three years Lorimar’s assassin has evaded capture, though the unprecedented reward of a thousand Palanthian crowns lies upon his head. It is the Lord Regent’s wish that this reward now be increased to twenty-five hundred crowns, paid from my father’s own treasury, to the knight who captures or slays the Assassin.
“In the absence of a prisoner or a dead body, the return of Lord Lorimar’s legendary sword, Giantsmiter, shall constitute proof of fulfillment. This man’s identity is well known to all of you. His name is Jaymes Markham, and he was formerly a Knight of the Rose. His treachery is all the more wicked because he was the trusted leader of Lorimar’s personal guards, the rest of whom perished in the attack. His treachery is a mystery, but he is known to prize the great sword, Giantsmiter, and as such is a marked man.”
“My Lady, if you will forgive the interruption, I may offer a tidbit of news-perhaps too trivial and tardy to warrant urgent status-but it regards that mighty blade.” The speaker was Duke Rathskell of Solanthus. The duke had risen abruptly to his feet, but now spoke respectfully, with a slight bow of his head that conveyed his apologies to the princess.
“Please-what can you tell us?” she said.
“I received word several months ago from one of my knights-Sir Percival, the captain of my scouts.” The duke indicated a large Knight of the Sword with a shock of red hair and a mustache with twin plumes flowing lower than his chin. “While patrolling in the foothills of the Garnet Range, Sir Percival had occasion to inspect the stronghold of a bandit lord, a certain Cornellus, who maintains a disreputable post up there.
“Percival learned of a recent altercation in that stronghold. A warrior wielding a great, blazing sword slew many of Cornellus’ attendants. No great loss there, of course, but the description of the sword matches Giantsmiter. Unfortunately, the story is now nearly four months old. Thus, I did not choose to disseminate it as an emergency bulletin.”
“I quite understand,” the princess said.
The duke sat back down, as the frowning princess turned the council to discussion of commerce and business concerns.
The talk started with the trading city of Garnet, the mercantile center on the plains just west of the mountain range of the same name. The free city was approximately equidistant from Solanthus and Thelgaard. Historically, it had fallen under the sway of one, than the other, of those city-states. Since the War of Souls it had been garrisoned by mixed companies of knights, dispatched by the three dukes. Though the knights guarded the city walls and gates, Garnet had successfully resisted all attempts at domination by any of the orders. Now-as both dukes apparently agreed-this was a luxury Garnet could no longer afford.
“Even the temples in Garnet are unsafe,” Patriarch Issel declared. “I have learned that the shrine of Shinare was robbed there several weeks ago and the patriarch himself was murdered.”
“I vouch for this report,” said a Knight of the Rose. Selinda recognized him as Sir Reynaud, Duke Crawford’s chief retainer, who had captured the goblin and brought it to Caergoth. “I happened to be at that temple shortly before the crime occurred.”
“It’s not just bandits. We have raiders coming down from the mountains, striking farmsteads and villages miles beyond their previous incursions!” proclaimed Duke Jarrod. “With Garnet to secure my southern flank, my troops could form a bulwark against the raiders’ inroads to the west, I can no longer afford to send a garrison to a place that provides me with no revenue.
“Bah-it is to the north that the enemy plans to strike!” objected Duke Rathskell. “That’s why Garnet is essential-essential-to the proper defense of Solanthus.”
Back and forth they went throughout a long, hot day in the great hall. Selinda had almost dozed off when she heard a commotion at the back of the large room. A messenger in the livery of the Rose knights rushed in to interrupt the debate.
“The assassin of Lord Lorimar!” the messenger gasped, to general consternation. “He has been spotted in the city! The duke’s agents have him cornered near the waterfront-he’s in the Gnome Ghetto!”
“Evil strides the streets of my city! My men will apprehend him at once!” cried Duke Crawford, leaping to his feet, shouting orders to Sir Marckus.
“Not so fast!” objected Rathskell. “This villain is the great prize of our age-let all the orders combine for the honor of bringing him to justice!
“I pledge a hundred knights!” Duke Jarrod shouted. The others swiftly followed suit, so that it was a party of three hundred veteran Solamnics, armed and armored, that presently hastened toward the Gnome Ghetto, in pursuit of the vile murderer.
Sir Mikel Horn, a veteran Knight of the Rose, had served his order in key posts for twenty years. He had guarded bands of refugees fleeing south and east to escape the depredations of the Dragon Overlord Khellendros. He had stood on the walls of Solanthus when Mina had come with her Dark Knights to sweep that ancient fortress by storm. He had led patrol after patrol against the brigands, goblins, and Dark Knight remnants that had plagued all the provinces of Solamnia since the end of the War of Souls. He helped to train the garrisons for both Solanthus and Thelgaard, earning a reputation as a man who could be trusted, a man who could think for himself, a man for whom no assignment was too difficult.